


(Potentially) Doesn't Hate Him

by BuzzCat



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Family Bonding, Gen, Pines Family Bonding, Stanford Pines Misses the Obvious, Stanley Pines is Not Dumb, brother bonding, lighthouse au, will add more tags as they become applicable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-07 23:39:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14681895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuzzCat/pseuds/BuzzCat
Summary: There were always tourists coming out to the lighthouse, people in need of a story about the ghosts that still rattled these walls (Stan was fairly certain it was just rats) and the mysterious monsters that would hunt the depths of the bay. Stan had always been a good liar; it wasn’t that hard to modify his lying into story-telling. And besides, story-telling and tour-giving as a profession was the closest thing to an honest living Stan had made in years.The one where Stan works at a lighthouse and didn't really intend to see his brother again, but it's a lighthouse with stories and monsters and if one thing draws in an anomaly-obsessed scientist, it's an old lighthouse with ghosts and monsters.





	1. Chapter 1

Stan sighed, slowly making his way down the long winding staircase with the lantern in hand. This was always the worst part of the night, when it was dark and cold and the sound of the sea was no longer a comforting lullaby but a threat leaning against the very foundation of the building. Stan shuddered. He hated this lighthouse, hated it more and more each day.

Every night, he laid down and told himself that was the last day in this crummy lighthouse. And every morning, he woke up and told himself he could take it one more day, just one more day. There was nowhere else willing to give a job to a high school dropout with no birth certificate, no proof of anything. His two options hadn’t changed from when he’d arrived three years previous: either run the lighthouse or live in his car. Stan had already tried living in his car; it hadn’t worked out. He could deal with the crumbling lighthouse if it meant that he wouldn’t live every night in fear of someone smashing his windows and waking up without kidneys.

And besides, some days it wasn’t so bad. There were always tourists coming out to the lighthouse, people in need of a story about the ghosts that still rattled these walls (Stan was fairly certain it was just rats) and the mysterious monsters that would hunt the depths of the bay. Stan had always been a good liar; it wasn’t that hard to modify his lying into story-telling. And besides, story-telling and tour-giving as a profession was the closest thing to an honest living Stan had made in years. It felt good to know that at the end of the day he wouldn’t have some loan shark on his tail or the cops chasing him through town. Sure, sometimes the monotony grated on his nerves and he wanted to scream when things were too quiet and too still in the night, but sometimes that was just life.

Stan finally reached the bottom of the staircase and padded into his room, his slippers shuffling against the carpet the only sound in the place. Stan shucked off his robe and slippers, checked that the emergency radio was on, and crawled into bed, wrapping himself deep in the covers and closed his eyes, promising he could get out soon. Once he had enough money, once he could prove himself a respectable member of society, he could get out. Once he had enough money, maybe he could go home.

 

Stan’s eyes snapped open as he slowly pieced together exactly why he was awake. The emergency radio was crackling, someone saying something on the other end. Stan’s sleep-addled brain tried to process what he was hearing, but between the bad reception and the time being—Stan checked the clock—three in the morning, he couldn’t tell. Really though, there was only one reason anyone would ever radio a lighthouse at three in the morning. He slipped on his slippers and grabbed the lantern before running up the stairs. Round and round he went, and Stan idly wondered how much trouble in life he could have escaped if he’d had the cardio routine he did now.

Finally, only mostly out of breath, Stan reached the top of the stairs and flipped on the switch for the light of the lighthouse. It blinded him but it didn’t matter; he knew the rest of the routine by heart. With a couple button switches and flips, he had the light broadcasting in circles across the bay. He went out on the balcony, grateful for the slivers of the full summer moon peeking through the clouds, illuminating parts of the bay. Sure enough, out in the distance, Stan could see a small boat that looked to be in bad repair slowly limping its way toward the dock. He started heading down the stairs, this time at a much more sedate pace. He’d have to put on actual shoes and a coat before heading out. He’d gone out in just his slippers once; it was a mistake he was not eager to repeat. Stan shoved his feet into his boots and threw a heavy coat over his tanktop and boxers to protect against both judging looks and an unfortunate breeze. He grabbed his flashlight and keys and latched the door behind him, slowly making his way down to the dock.

 

By the time he got there the boat had already docked and Sam could see what looked suspiciously like giant bites taken out of the hull. In fact, the thing seemed to be slowly sinking rather than floating and the owner appeared to know it, hauling himself and what looked like a tackle box off the boat before it was swallowed up. The owner immediately pulled out what looked like a journal and began scribbling in it, not even looking up as Stan put his hands on his hips and shook his head,

“Well, that looks like it could have gone better. What’d you meet out there that did that?”

The stranger answered distractedly, “Nothing, nothing. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Stan’s stomach dropped. He knew that voice. He hadn’t heard it in years, but he knew that voice.

He lifted his lantern higher, squinting against the dark and shadows. He felt himself grow pale when he saw that the owner of the boat, scribbling in his journal and not paying any attention to anything else, had six fingers.

“Ford?” he asked hoarsely.

Ford looked up and squinted against the light. His face was scrunched as he tried to see past the light and his eyebrows went up as he said in harsh surprise, “Stanley?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s me,” Stan took in a deep breath, running a hand through his hair and smiling, “Wow. I, uh, didn’t expect to see you out here.”

Ford closed his journal and slipped it into a pocket in his long coat,

“I hardly expected to find you out here as well. I’m out here studying anomalies. Things we can’t explain, things that are strange.” Stanley noticed how Ford seemed to hide his fingers as he said that and Stanley suddenly felt the urge to deck Crampelter. Ford continued speaking, “What are you doing out here? I mean, a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere is hardly what I’d have expected for you.” Stanley tried not to flinch at Ford’s words _. Probably expected me to still be scraping barnacles in Jersey,_ he thought. Stan shrugged,

“It pays the bills. It’s better than other…other options.”

“Ah.”

Something in Stanley wanted to laugh. It had been seven years and Ford still hadn’t learned how to hold a conversation. And of course, of course this is how he would see his brother again. Not at a time they were anticipating, not as a planned meeting, not even in broad daylight, but at three in the morning as Ford sank his boat and Stan worked at a lighthouse. Stan gestured back at the lighthouse,

“You want to come inside? There’s a phone if you need to call someone.”

“No, there’s no one I need to call,” Ford said. Stan honestly wasn’t sure if his brother was trying to brush him off or genuinely didn’t have anyone to call. Both options left Stan feeling a little heartbroken. The was a burbling sound behind them as the air trapped in the boat finally escaped.

“Well, do you want a ride into town? I’ve still got the Stanley Mobile; I could take you home or to your hotel or wherever.” Stan was trying, he really was, but he couldn’t tell if Ford was just as awkward as ever or if he just genuinely wasn’t communicating

“No, that’s alright. I can—“ Ford turned around to gesture at his boat and only then seemed to remember that it had sunk. He slumped a little and something in Stan instinctively screamed that his brother was sad and Stan had to make it better. He looked at his watch,

“Look, it’s three-thirty in the morning. Why don’t you just come into the house and we can figure out how to get you home tomorrow.” Stan had a couch that he knew for a fact was easy to sleep on; Ford could crash there and maybe tomorrow they could have the conversation they should have had seven years ago.

Or Ford could just leave and never come back and Stan would still be stuck in a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere with no one. Either way, it was something that Stan was unwilling to handle at dark o’clock in the morning and the longer he looked at Ford, the more tired Ford looked. Ford nodded after a moment,

“Thank you, Stanley. I appreciate it.”

Stan nodded, not trusting himself to speak, afraid he’d start spouting off about how he hadn’t meant to ruin Ford’s life. He led Ford up to the house and neither of them said a word until Stan had handed his brother a blanket and the pillow off his bed, “’Night Ford, sleep well.”

“Goodnight Stanley.”

The lighthouse keeper’s quarters were a single room area, with the bed on the wall opposite the couch. As Stan laid in bed waiting to fall asleep, he heard a sound he hadn’t realized he’d missed: he could hear Ford’s breathing, deep and slow in slumber. Something he hadn’t even realized was anxiously tight relaxed at that sound.

His brother was here, his brother was safe, and his brother potentially did not hate him.

For the first time since moving into the lighthouse, Stan fell asleep looking forward to waking up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stan wakes up to a familiar sound and Ford misses the obvious answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, sirens are apparently half-bird, half-woman? I thought they were like evil mermaids until I started writing this and ended up googling and sike, that's a lie. Link to research: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siren_(mythology)

When Stan woke up, it was to the sound of a pen scribbling on paper. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows and it was already starting to get warm inside from the summer heat. Stan cracked an eye and just watched his brother, hunched over his journal at the kitchen table. How often had Stan woken up to Ford working on a project, writing an essay or scribbling out a math proof? Almost their entire childhood, when Stan thought about it. The sound of Ford hard at work was as familiar to Stan as the purr of the Stanley Mobile. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed hearing that familiar sound.

Stan stood up, stretching and working out the kink in his back that somehow always appeared when he had to get up in the middle of the night. Ford did not look up from his journal. Warily, Stan went through his morning routine, preparing for the day and always keeping an eye on the uncommunicative Ford. Stanley did up the last button on his shirt and said to the quiet room,

“I’m giving tours through most of the day, but if you need anything there’s food in the fridge. Once I’m done I can give you a ride wherever, okay?”

“Fine, fine,” said Ford distractedly from his journal. Stan couldn’t tell if he was deliberately being given the cold shoulder or if Ford simply didn’t want to address the awkward seven-year gap in their shared history. Stan shrugged to himself and put on his hat—it really added to the weathered salty lighthouse keeper image he’d built up—and closed the door.

 

Ford looked up from his journal as he heard the door close behind Stanley. This was a situation he had not anticipated. He had meant to come out to West End Harbor in Oregon and gather information about the animals he heard lived here. Tales had reached Gravity Falls of monsters that lived in the harbor, sea serpents that could snap a boat in half and mermaids that returned lost cameras to tourists. Ford wanted to study the animals, not meet up with the brother he hadn’t spoken to in seven years. Why couldn’t things be easy? And with the _Aequorea Victoria_ at the bottom of the harbor, Ford wasn’t exactly going to be sailing home anytime soon. He was here, with his brother who no doubt harbored an intense dislike for him, and he had no way out of here.

Ford picked up his pencil again, adding shading to the teeth of the animal that had sunk his boat last night. The serpent hadn’t been quite as long as some of the Gravity Falls citizens had claimed—more twenty feet than forty feet—but it had still been quite the fearsome animal. Bioluminescent scales and eyes that shimmered beneath the water; Ford hadn’t realized it was upon him until it roared out of the water and tore off the front of his boat.

Ford paused in his recollection. Strange, he heard screaming but didn’t recall screaming when the monster attacked.

That’s when he realized the screams were coming from outside.

Ford leapt up, tucking his journal and pen into the inside pocket of his coat. He ran to the door and pushed it open, freezing as he took in the commotion.

Stan stood on the beach, brandishing a cane at what appeared to be three angry young women with bird-like legs standing at the foamy edge of the beach. Frightened tourists ran screaming toward the parking lot, each of them with hands clapped to their ears against the unholy screaming that the three women were emitting. Stan alone seemed unaffected by the screeching, possibly because he was doing some screeching of his own,

“GET BACK TO WHEREVER THE HELL YOU CAME FROM, YOU TWO-BIT HASSLES! ME AND THE MERMAIDS ARE SQUARE, SO I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU THINK—”

The three women screeched in one ethereal voice, “Foolish man, there is no dealing with sirens. We will dash you against the rocks and consume your flesh, all the tender tasty morsels that you so selfishly keep to yourself. We will—”

Ford began running down the beach, screaming for his brother to plug his ears. Siren singing was dangerous, but their screams could be even more so. Ford had heard stories of siren screams bursting eardrums and Stanley was mere feet from them.

Stanley paid Ford no mind, setting his cane in the sand and adopting the demeanor of a used car salesman. His mouth started moving, but Ford was too far away to hear what was said. Sirens were things not to be trifled with; he’d run into one in Gravity Falls and it had nearly been the end of him. They hungered for mortal flesh and could be satisfied with nothing else—

Ford watched as the chattering Stan pulled out a thin plastic bag, heavy with whatever it held, and threw it to the sirens. One grabbed it and ripped the top off, sticking out a barbed tongue and licking the inside. She froze for a second, eyes going wide as she proceeded to upend the thing, pouring it into her mouth. Her sisters immediately began squabbling with her, trying to rip the bag from her hands. But the first was successful, managing to finish whatever was in the bag before her sisters could rip it away. She threw the empty thing down in the sand.

Ford was at the beach now, reaching Stanley’s side as the three turned as one to stare Stan down,

“More.”

Stan’s shoulders relaxed just the slightest bit, the tense line Ford had noticed suddenly gone, “I’ll make you a deal. You leave me and all these fine people alone, and I’ll bring you each a bag a week. I know you have hunting grounds somewhere else; hunt there and leave this harbor alone.”

“We want two bags each,” hissed the one on the left. Stan raised an eyebrow,

“Fine. Two bags a week. But in return, you come by on the weekends and make an appearance. Splash around, sing some songs, but no one gets hurt. Just scare ‘em a bit. For two bags a week. Deal?”

Ford watched in utter shock.

The three conferred amongst themselves, hissing in a language Ford desperately wished he could record. Finally, they turn to Stan and each held out a hand,

“It’s a deal.”

Stan swaggered forward, shaking the hand of each siren. He looked them in the eye as he did, and Ford could feel the tense atmosphere. Stan and the sirens were each deeply aware that all they had to do was sing a little song and that’d be the end of Stan and Ford both. Stan, in turn, was the only one who could get them what they wanted.

It was the tensest agreement Ford had ever witnessed. Ford waited for each handshake to end in murder, but nothing happened. The moment passed.

Stan grinned more easily as he stepped back,

“Come by on Sunday evenings, around sundown. I’ll bring it then.”

“We will come.” The sirens turned and unfurled huge wings from their backs, crouching on the sand and soaring into the air before Ford could even comprehend what he was seeing. Stan turned and only then seemed to notice Ford was there. He grinned like nothing had happened,

“What’s up, Sixer?”

“What…how…what…” Ford could only stutter in amazement. Ford had faced a siren once and almost died, escaping only barely with his life. His brother had protected a boatload of tourists from three sirens and defeated them with bribery. Ford finally managed to scrape together a sentence as he said in a faint voice, “What did you give them?”

Stan reached down and plucked up the empty bag the siren had dropped. He held it up triumphantly,

“Sunflower seeds.”

Ford blinked.

“Sunflower seeds? You defeated ravenous man-eating sirens with sunflower seeds?”

Stan shrugged, “Hey, I cut a deal with the mermaids in exchange for fish food. Figured it was worth a shot.”

“Why do you even have sunflower seeds?” Ford asked incredulously. Stan rolled his eyes,

“Snacks, Stanford. Giving tours all day takes energy.”

Ford had officially heard it all. He turned, throwing his hands in the air,

“I give up! I fucking give up!” He stomped up the beach, heading for the lighthouse to sit and describe the interaction in his journal.

As Ford stormed off however, he missed Stan’s expression falling and the disappointment that clouded over his face.


End file.
